


Midnight Intrusions

by shsldespair



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Crime Fighting, Crossover, Gen, Non-Sexual Tentacle Penetration, Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23062819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shsldespair/pseuds/shsldespair
Summary: Pekoyama's routine pro-hero rounds are interrupted by a villain she's never seen before with knowledge of her past and a slippery, dangerous quirk.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Midnight Intrusions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ultimate Heroic Despair: A BNHA/DR Crossover Zine

The air is cold against Pekoyama’s skin, having grown chilly with the sunset, but there’s not much to be done about it. She needs access to her skin- or more accurately, the armory she’s painstaking etched into it. The costume wasn’t her choice, nor the image that goes along with something that just barely complies with modesty laws, but she doesn’t pay attention to that sort of thing. She has managers for that, to pose her for photos, write copy, sell an image of some unattainable thing for people to buy. She’ll put it up for it all if it lets her do this work, be out in the air with the people, moving their body, defending the city.

She’s been training to be in heroics since she was four years old, ever since her quirk manifested as something that could turn her into a living weapon. She knows what this industry is like. Money, sex, corruption… She tunes all of it out. It’s about people and doing the right thing with the gifts she’s been given.

She stops and takes in the night. Halfway through her patrol. The city is beautiful at night. The lights-

_ THWACK! _

The wet snap of a tentacle whips across her back. She stumbles forward, barely keeping on her feet. As soon as she regains her balance, she spins around sharply and pulls a police baton out of her thigh in one smooth motion, searching for the source of the attack. There’s a shadow, a giggle behind her. Pekoyama whips around again, only to be practically nose to nose with the source. A woman with green, shiny skin, wild pink twintail hair gaudily colored clothing, and proportions that sit all wrong on her body in a way that Pekoyama cannot quite explain stands before her.

“Got a minute, babe?” she asks casually.

Pekoyama is too bewildered to react before she’s sucker punched in the jaw. The impact is like nothing she’s felt before. Her fist is fluid, the sides of her fingers almost feeling as if they curve around Pekoyama’s jaw from the force of the punch, but the actual point of impact is hard as stone. Finally, Pekoyama snaps back to reality strikes with the police baton. It hits the assailant with a thud and sinks into her body. When they pull it back, for a moment it almost feels stuck, but it pulls free with a wet  _ pop _ . The girl does not react beyond a cruel smirk. Pekoyama grits her teeth and snaps wrist that holds the baton. The force from the motion snaps the inky cylindrical form of the baton flat into a sharp machete. The blade slices clean and deep into her chest, but the other girl doesn’t bleed. Inside the wound is the same shiny green color as the surface of her body. Pekoyama can no longer confidently call it skin. After a moment, the strange, gooey substance that makes up the woman knits itself back together.

“Just call me Rotten Girl.” She blows a kiss at Pekoyama’s incredulous expression.

Pekoyama slaps the baton-turned-machete back into her thigh and throws another punch, this time with her bare fist. Rotten Girl takes the blows but never once flinches. She moves backwards, moving with the momentum of Pekoyama’s blows until she’s backed against the wall.

“And you’re the Painted Lady!” she says cheerfully, referring to Pekoyama’s hero name. “I’m a big fan.” Her tone shifts into something more sinister and she leans into Pekoyama’s ear. “I love lab rats.”

The color drains out of her face momentarily. That’s- no, she couldn’t possibly- her upbringing is such a secret. “You can’t know that,” she says.

“But I do, boo,” she says softly, eyes wide with false innocence, her lips curling into the ghost of a self-satisfied smirk. Pekoyama punches at her again, but she slips fluidly out of the way of the blow- all her fist finds is hard brick. A shockwave of pain travels up Pekoyama’s arm from the impact. Rotten Girl grasps her hard by the shoulders and shoves her into the brick wall hard enough that she hears the lense of her glasses crack. Pekoyama squirms and struggles, but the villain presses in harder, leaning her body up against hers to talk over her shoulder. “You’re all the magic of genetic engineering and a dash of brainwashing, all wrapped up in a sexy little costume and a hell of a self-righteous streak.”

Pekoyama grits her teeth. Half-truths, that’s all this is. It’s true that her birth was a lab-sanctioned, planned event, the result of careful combinations of donor material blessed with powerful quirks, that her quirk development was monitored and guided. From the moment it manifested as something desirable, she’s been in combat training, studying heroics-- yes, she was built to be a hero, but that doesn’t make it brainwashing, much less  _ engineering _ . It’s- she doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. But why wouldn’t she want to be a hero, take the opportunity that’s been given?

Her train of thought is interrupted when Rotten Girl shoves her hand in her mouth. She tastes like tofu and cheap rubber balls. 

“Incredible,” says the villain with a chilling tone of wonder. She shoves her hand further in and reaches around, painfully worming her way around Pekoyama’s soft palate and forcing her fingers through her nose. They reshape into long, thin tendrils, but the intrusion is still excruciating. She reaches around, trying to claw Rotten Girl off her, but her fingers sink into the strange, gelatinous material that makes up her form. “Look at you squirm. A lifetime of training, grooming, all to make you the perfect hero, and I can just reach inside and rearrange you however I like.” 

She wrenches her hand back out and steps back. Pekoyama falls to her knees clutching her face. Every bit of training is screaming at her to get up, to keep going, but she needs a moment to catch her breath after that. Rotten Girl towers over her.

“Who the hell are you?!” Pekoyama screams. “You shouldn’t know any of this, you shouldn’t be able to  _ do _ any of this!”

Rotten Girl laughs a vicious laugh, then crouches down so they’re eye to eye and grasps Pekoyama’s chin with two fingers. “Aww, babe, not used to losing?” She pats Pekoyama’s head patronizingly. “Of course I’m good. You have a quirk, I  _ am _ a quirk. We’re not even in the same league!”

Energized by the proximity, by anger, Pekoyama pulls a hunting knife out of their forearm and lunges at her with it. “That doesn’t make any sense!” they shout back.

“Let’s see,” Junko says mock-thoughtfully. She punctuates it with a sharp gut punch that knocks the wind out of Pekoyama yet again. “What happens when you take a little girl with a wicked fast regenerative healing quirk and run her over with a semi truck so hard she gets smeared across the pavement?” Pekoyama slashes at her neck with the machete. The other girl ducks. “A big fucking mess, that’s what! And sometimes, an extra head.” Her eyes glimmer. “They tried to cut me off, but I’m like a starfish, baby, you pull off a piece and it doesn’t die. It’s a clipping.” 

The next time Pekoyama slashes at her, she deliberately moves her arm into the path. Her forearm is sliced cleanly in two, the hand dropping to the ground unceremoniously. Pekoyama stares at it. Rotten Girl winks, dives down, picks it up, and smashes it back against the stump, where it reattaches near instantaneously. “Don’t worry, though. There’s only two of us, and we have an agreement. If someone else shows up, we eat her.”

Pekoyama stares. Horrifying as it is, the self-amputation gives her an idea. She pulls her tattoo gun out of its holster and quickly begins scrawling into a free patch of skin on the palm of her hand.

Rotten Girl darts forward to look. Pekoyama scampers backwards and pulls the hand into her chest as she finishes drawing, protecting it from Rotten Girl’s prying eyes. She closes her fist the moment it’s done, mere seconds before Rotten Girl catches up. “Making a new toy, babe? Can’t wait to see. You’ve been  _ great _ job of hitting me so far, totally.” She rolls her eyes.

She continues stalking towards Pekoyama and Pekoyama keeps backing away, strides long and confident right until she bumps into a corner where the concrete wall butts up against a dumpster. She glances behind her, at the two solid walls she’s backed straight into like an idiot, and then back at Rotten Girl. “Don’t look so scared, babe. Honestly, I’m getting kind of bored of beating the shit out of you,” she teases, eyes twinkling. Pekoyama tightens her jaw and squeezes her fist tighter. Can’t pull out her trump card in a confined space like this. 

“If it were up to me, we wouldn’t fight at all. Us lab grown freaks gotta stick together, you know?” She reaches out and strokes Pekoyama’s face with a loving care reserved for beloved pets or museum artifacts. “You could be so much more than this system,” she says, tone sounding genuine for the first time that night. The tenderness of it knocks Pekoyama off what little guard she had left and for a moment, all she can do is stare back. There’s something hypnotic about her.

The moment is fleeting-- it only lasts until Pekoyama blinks. When she does, she flinches, physically shaking off whatever strange, momentary hold this girl had had on her. No. This has gone on far longer than it should have already.

She dives to the side, tucking her head into a somersault, rolling, and springing back onto her feet in one smooth motion. Whatever tenderness had overcome Rotten Girl, it distracted her from cornering Peykoama against the dumpster and she takes full advantage. In another split second she darts to the side so she’s standing squarely behind the villain. Without hesitation, she pulls the newly-drawn weapon out of her palm, pulls the pin out with her teeth, and shoves the grenade squarely into the center of Rotten Girl’s chest. There’s barely enough time for the surprise to register on her face and for Pekoyama to jump to the side for cover when the it explodes, coating the alley in green gunk and inky shrapnel.

Shakily, she stands. There are pieces of the villain all over her, in her hair, sticking to her costume- it’s a mess. What’s worse, the memory of her, with her strange words, her eyes, her laugh, it echoes in Pekoyama’s brain even after her ears have stopped ringing from the blast. When she looks down, she can already see the tendrils and bits begin to twitch and inch together like slugs, conglomerating towards a spot under the dumpster-- if she’s not careful, she’ll still be standing here with the villain reforms. Disgusting. The authorities will have to come through with buckets and scrapers.

She shudders, shaking off this strange girl as best as can be done. Her job is done here. It’s time to move on.


End file.
